Last Kiss
by BryonieAnne
Summary: John Watson never thought Sherlock would be gone. He never thought they'd have their last kiss. Multi-Chapter songfic to Last Kiss by Taylor Swift. Post-Reichenbach, but flashbacks to before the fall.
1. Chapter 1

**This is going to be a multi-chapter songfic based on Last Kiss by Taylor Swift. It's gonna be a little angsty but I promise it'll be a happy ending :)**

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_I still remember the look on your face_

_Lit through the darkness at 1:58_

_The words that you whispered for just us to know_

_You told me you loved me_

_So why did you go away?_

John Watson sat in his armchair facing the empty chair of his late best friend. His best mate, the one who'd pulled him out of his post-war depression, the one who showed him danger, excitement, wonder, and love. Sherlock showed him that it was okay to love the battlefield, to love the scummy underbelly of the great beauty that was London. He taught John that he wasn't broken, that he could forget the limp that had once controlled his being. He taught John how wondrous and spectacular and rude one single man could be, and he helped John realize that love was accepting of the good and the bad. But right now, it was very, very bad.

Sherlock was dead. John could still see the crumpled mess that was his best friend on the sidewalk. Every time he closed his eyes, the sight was etched on his eyelids. when he closed his eyes he was back outside Bart's, crying over the broken man that he loved more than anything, and he watched all his own feelings drench the sidewalk alongside Sherlock's blood.

John leaned back in his chair and curled his knees up to his chest. He closed his eyes tightly and thought of the better times.

-x-

"Are you awake?"

John rolled over in his bed, groggy from sleep, and peered into the darkness surrounding him. "Well, I am now," he spoke softly, knowing exactly who woke him, even though he couldn't see him. "What are you doing here, Sherlock?"

"I wanted to tell you something," the deep voice floated through the darkness like chocolate and John ached to turn on a light so he could see the speaker.

John had long been harboring feelings for his odd flatmate, and having said flatmate in his room, oozing sex appeal was absolutely not helping matters at all.

"No, don't turn on a light. It's easier when you can't see me."

John shrugged. "Can you see me?"

"Of course," the voice came closer now and John's breathing hitched ever so slightly. "My eyes have gotten used to the dark."

John didn't bother asking just how long Sherlock had spent in his room, letting his eyes adjust, and instead tried to hurry the conversation along. "What did you want to tell me, Sherlock?" He glanced at the clock. "It's almost 2 in the morning."

Sherlock took in a deep breath and John ached to feel him, touch his hand, his arm, anything. He could tell the detective was uncomfortable and everything in John wanted to change that. "Come sit down, Sherlock. You don't need to be nervous, it's just me."

"That's the problem, John!" He groaned but sat on the bed beside John anyway. He let out a hiss and continued. "For a few weeks I've been... Noticing things about you."

"Sherlock, you notice everything about everyone, I hardly think that's news."

"Don't interrupt!" Sherlock snapped. "This is different. Yes, I can tell what you've done any day based on small details but this is something new. Lately I've noticed that you smile whenever you receive a text, that you look nicer when you don't try, and that you barely put up a fight when I request something from you. I've also noticed things about me. I get happier when you walk in a room, if I get too close to you, my stomach starts feeling odd, and when you're upset I always get the weirdest urge to hold your hand. I've looked it up and I think I've got a label for it."

John gaped but remained silent.

"I love you, John. And you love me, isn't that right?" Sherlock's voice was quieter as he spoke the last half of his statement and it was all John could do to keep from bursting out laughing. "It is right, I know it is from your body language and how you're not screaming at me, but do say it John, I want to hear it."

"Yes, Sherlock," John reached out with his hand and it was met with one of Sherlock's. "I love you."

Sherlock inhaled quickly before beginning to chuckle. The chuckle bloomed into joyous laughter and John joined in, the absurdity of the conversation hitting them.

After a few moments, they sobered up and John spoke again. "Well, there's one little thing people usually do after they profess their love for someone."

Sherlock squeezed his hand. "What?"

John reached into the darkness and found Sherlock's head with ease. He cupped the detective's cheeks and pulled him down over the doctor. At this proximity John could just make out the lines of Sherlock's face, and his wide, unblinking eyes. John closed the distance and pressed his lips calmly against Sherlock's. "Oh," the detective breathed against John's lips. "That's what you meant."

John laughed as he melted into the kiss.

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**Hope you enjoyed! Please review, I love them :)**


	2. Chapter 2

_I do recall now the smell of the rain_

_Fresh on the pavement, I ran off the plane_

_That July 9th, the beat of your heart_

_It jumps through your shirt_

_I can still feel your arms_

John stood in the kitchen of 221b, scraping at some leftover food on a plate in the sink. He watched the bubbles from the soapy water envelope the plate, breaking down the grime, returning it to its original splendor. He watched as every dish in his sink went through the same process under his ministrations. It reminded him how much he loved the rain; the way it fell to the earth, wiped away the soot and dirt, then splashed down the drains of the city. God, how John ached for a good downpour, maybe that would help wash away some of his own grime.

He loved rain, but lately it'd been a bit too hard to bear, the memories washing over him in waves.

-x-

John tapped angrily on his armrest. He'd been away from Baker Street for a week, visiting an old friend in London, and was now on the dreadful flight home. John was counting the minutes until he'd reach the airport, tapping out the time with his fingers.

He ached to feel those wide gray eyes trained on him, deducing all he'd done. He wanted to feel that scratchy coat surround him, pulling him closer to the warm body it covered. He couldn't wait to touch that perfect Cupid's Bow, feel the velvety tongue that lay behind them.

Through the window of the plane John could see the lights of London, welcoming him home like an old friend. He was giddy with excitement, almost bouncing in his seat. It earned him a few nasty looks from the people beside him, but John didn't take much notice. If they knew who was waiting for him to land, they'd be excited too.

John almost laughed as he felt the tell-tale bump-bump as the plane landed on the runway. He watched as everyone in the plane slowly got up, grabbed their things, and made their way out. It was painstakingly slow for John, but he didn't complain. He was much too happy to complain.

He almost danced through the tunnel that lead him off the plane and into the airport, knowing it was only minutes now until he got to see that beautiful man again. In his mind, he was already touching Sherlock, dragging his fingertips across those razor sharp cheekbones, slipping his hand through those ragged curls, kissing that perfectly symmetrical mouth.

He was so busy fantasizing, he almost missed the sight in front of him. Among the various families strewn about the terminal, there stood a tall, porcelain skinned man; his thick coat wrapped around him, those violinists hands stuffed into pockets. He was scowling viciously at the people around him, probably having proven them idiots, and he tapped one foot on the ground aggressively. He checked his phone over and over, waiting for one person.

John grinned from ear to ear at the sight, and rushed as fast as his short legs would take him directly into the arms of his detective. Those thin arms instinctively closed around the doctor, and squeezed him tight. "About time, John," he spoke deeply, his voice caressing the air between them. "I'd begun to think you'd missed your flight."

John shook his head furiously, but said nothing, instead he rested his head just above Sherlock's heart, reveling in the sound. The detective chuckled, and pulled away just a bit. John looked up as Sherlock ducked his head to kiss the shorter man once, twice, then a third for good measure.

"I've missed you," his voice was quiet but sincere, his forehead rested against John's after his kisses.

"I've missed you too, Sherlock," John smiled. "Let's go home."

As John dragged Sherlock out of the airport, they both made mental notes: a week apart was too long, indeed.

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I hope you liked it! Please leave a review, I love them :)


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